


No one knows

by bluebells



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Office, F/F, F/M, Office Party
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-29
Updated: 2012-01-29
Packaged: 2017-10-30 07:31:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/329319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluebells/pseuds/bluebells
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They’d broken every other code of conduct, anyway. If Michael tried to fire her, she had every intention of taking his job instead.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No one knows

**Author's Note:**

> For super_seme04 who asked for the Raphael and Balthazar in the awkward setting of an office party, but I liked the idea their office could actually be a lot of fun!

Raphael lingered by the work stations to buffer her from the ill effects of her colleagues falling progressively drunk as the night wore on. 

There were still international clients to support, and the phones wouldn’t answer themselves, even if such a task was so laughably far beneath her pay grade.

Ruby and Anna had almost given up all pretences of being coy with one another. Raphael might have found it sweet if such a thing was in her capacity, and their delighted laughter didn’t make her grit her teeth every time it rang out like a shot in the dark. 

They laughed, bumping her desk as they wobbled past, and Raphael was immediately up and out of her seat.

Ruby and Anna blinked up at her in shock, arms still wrapped around each other.

“Oh, I’m sorry, Raphael. We were just – excuse us.” Anna’s earnest apology was spoiled when Ruby burst into giggles at whatever she saw in Raphael’s face, turning to muffle her hysterics in Anna’s shoulder.

“You’re excused,” Raphael growled, and the pair of girls scampered off. Clumsily.

“Young love,” a smooth voice sighed. “It never knows its place.”

Raphael didn’t bother looking back into Balthazar’s smug face. She’d seen enough of him watching her all evening.

“I’m concerned for the fate of our photocopier,” Raphael confessed. “I hope they stay out of the stationery room.”

Unable to stave off the impossible without being rude, Raphael finally turned to face her subordinate. Balthazar didn’t look as drunk as she thought he would, but she had learned by now that Balthazar was a man of grace.

He smiled, blue eyes playful but understanding, and Raphael would never tell him how much it calmed her. She crossed her arms over her suit jacket.

“Well, I _do_ hold the only pass code to the stationery room after hours. I vouch that our office equipment will only be manhandled by the worthy.”

His mouth tipped into a meaningful smirk and Raphael stared, fingers digging subconsciously into her arm.

“In the office? Balthazar, you stoop to every stereotype –“

“I didn’t hear you complaining in the locker room yesterday,” Balthazar murmured, barely audible, and his smirk only widened when Raphael cut him short with a glare.

A roar of cheers chorused from the tables as Dean announced his triumph over Uriel and called for his next arm wrestling challenger. The applause and laughter rang loud and long, neither Raphael nor Balthazar looked their way, and she knew what he would say: nobody would miss them. Nobody would notice if they slipped away.

And if he did, Raphael might have said, they’d broken every other code of conduct, anyway. If Michael tried to fire her, she had every intention of taking his job instead.

The stationery room eclipsed them in dark when the door swinged shut behind them. Balthazar reached for the light switch, but Raphael caught his arm. She knew he liked to watch his hands on her, to watch her face when she pulled him in tighter, but not here.

“Leave them,” she said, pushing the lid of the photocopier open.

She felt his smile when his mouth found hers; his hands sank into her hair and stroked the length of her back under her jacket. 

“The executive assistants have complained about these old models. It’s time one of the executives put their complaints to the test.” Balthazar’s tone was indulgent, and the photocopier bumped up behind Raphael’s hips as Balthazar navigated her backwards while she quickly untucked his shirt, mentally timing the quick work he made of her familiar pants suit.

“And who’s been lodging these complaints?” Raphael snarled, nipping his lip as she threw her jacket on the recycling tray.

“The others,” Balthazar said, and Raphael knew he would be rolling his eyes with that flamboyant air. She moaned as he ground up between her thighs, lifting her to sit on the photocopier’s glass (“I submit these complaints are subject to a traction test”). Balthazar shrugged off the false challenge because they both knew he would never dare test her temper with infidelity.

It was a nice idea that maybe Balthazar was someone she could own completely, someone who might even enjoy it, but that’s all it was: an idea.


End file.
